


At Long Last Lost

by CrepuscularPetrichor



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrepuscularPetrichor/pseuds/CrepuscularPetrichor
Summary: The first time he killed someone, Ben was shocked by how little remorse he felt. Hard to feel remorseful, when a man wielding a bayonet comes charging at you, and killing him is the least you can do to defend yourself.
Relationships: Caleb Brewster/Benjamin Tallmadge
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	At Long Last Lost

The first time he killed someone, Ben was shocked by how little remorse he felt. Hard to feel remorseful, when a man wielding a bayonet comes charging at you, and killing him is the least you can do to defend yourself.

  
The second time, he began to wonder. What was it his Reverend father taught him so diligently about the ten commandments? Ben hadn’t even understood half of them as a child, and they seemed to carry almost no meaning for him now. What else of his father’s teachings were meaningless?

  
The third time, his eyes flicked across the safe house camp in Connecticut to find Caleb Brewster cutting a man apart with his hatchet. He saw Caleb’s face, his blood-spattered shirt, the strength of his arm. He stopped Caleb from killing Simcoe, but not out of any sense of moral obligation. If anything, torture was worse. Wasn’t it? So why wasn’t torture on the list of commandments? Why weren’t a thousand other things that his father had told him were grave sins?

  
After the battle at Kerr Farm, Ben no longer carried the commandments with him in his pocket. He no longer carried them near to his heart, because they were not in his heart. But what was in his heart had started to emerge, piecemeal, a little at a time, over nudged shoulders and warm smiles. Over shared secrets and the secrets he kept silent, alone at night in his tent. The old Ben, the Yale kid, the Reverend’s son, would have quashed those pieces, and he had. He had smushed them under the mighty weight of God’s word and his own fear and his own faith in the words that his father set before him. Thou shalt not want. For that was all it seemed to amount to, in the end. Do not covet contact with God, do not covet contact with flesh, do not covet things to fill the empty void you’re left with. Desire only emptiness.

  
Ben wasn’t the old Ben anymore. Ben wasn’t afraid of God’s empty word. He wasn’t afraid of his father’s retribution. He wasn’t afraid of Hell, for if there was one, he was certainly bound for it after breaking the commandments all too many times. He still feared other men, men who, like him, no longer faltered at the idea of taking another’s life. They would execute him without hesitation for less reason than that which was emerging in his heart. Though Ben did not suppress himself, he needed to tread carefully. He had no idea where to even start. This was not the kind of thing they taught at Yale. This was not the kind of thing he could learn from any book, nor ask advice for from any man. Except perhaps one.

  
“How do you know when a woman likes you?” Ben asked Caleb one night over their thin stew and hard bread.

  
Caleb raised his eyebrows. “You have someone in mind, Benny Boy? You gonna make use of God’s good works, at last?”

  
“No,” Ben answered hastily. “I mean in theory. If a woman approached you, how would you know she’d taken an interest?”

  
Caleb shrugged, but thought about it for a minute, soaking his bread in the watery stew. “I s’pose there are just signs. She’ll come closer than she oughta. Touch you more than’s usual. Laugh even when you’re an idiot. Look at you with eyes that suggest something.” Caleb caught Ben staring at him. “I don’ know, Ben. Don’t go reading into every time a woman smiles at you, I’ll tell ye that much. Get into more trouble than sheets that way.”

  
“If you don’t know for sure, then how do you reciprocate interest? How is she supposed to know whether you’re also keen on her?”

  
Caleb scratched the back of his neck, then ran a hand through his hair. “Shite, Tallboy, you are young.” He set down his bowl on the ground near the fire, seized Ben’s wrist and hauled Ben into his lap. His fingers ran up Ben’s sides and held him around his ribs. Ben, alarmed, tried to steady himself, holding Caleb’s shoulder and looked, panicked, into his eyes. They were so close. Ben’s gaze flicked to Caleb’s mouth, just for a moment. It broke into a wide smile as Caleb grinned at him.

  
“Now, you do somethin’ like this, and any girl who don’t want you will slap you silly. ‘less they’re shy, in which case they may look away, put some distance between themselves and you. It’s generally pretty clear, once you’ve pulled them close, whether they want to be there or no.” His hand slid up to Ben’s, which had curled around Caleb’s neck. “Now, if they touch you like this, that’s generally a good sign.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Ben. Ben flushed, smacked Caleb’s hand away and stood, steadying himself. He straightened his queue, which had not a hair out of place, and stalked away from the fire. He didn’t want Caleb to see how red he was.

“Ask again if you have any more questions, Benny Boy!” Caleb hollered after him, making other soldiers turn and stare. Ben wanted to make a rude gesture, but didn’t, and kept walking away instead.

Ben thought for a long time about that interaction. Why had Caleb smiled that way, when he’d said it was a “good sign”? Was it just to rile Ben up, just to watch him grow embarrassed and flustered? Likely. Wasn’t it? But then… Ben wondered if he should just try to implement Caleb’s own advice against him. He knew it couldn’t possibly be the same, for a man rather than a woman, but maybe there would be signals enough to judge whether he was likely to be reported and hanged for an indiscretion, or merely laughed at. What was the point of hoping for reciprocation, after all?

So, Ben began to be more conscious of his movements around Caleb. Conscious of every time he touched him, every time he smiled. And he found, much to his surprise, that he had not much opportunity to get closer than he ought, because Caleb was already beside him. Neither could Ben touch him more than usual, because Caleb’s hand was always on Ben’s shoulder, brushing his arm, dragging him into an embrace or lightly slapping his cheek, with all the affection Caleb could muster shining through his eyes. It was difficult, too, to make Caleb smile, because Caleb had always smiled incessantly around Ben.

  
Ben took these things and wondered over them. He wondered whether perhaps those were Caleb’s signs of general affection for anyone, which was why he’d outlined those traits specifically. Whether it meant anything that Caleb was friendly with other men, but generally kept a few feet distant, when he was always crowding Ben, jostling him, shoving at him with shoulders and knees even when there was space enough for five men to sit comfortably. Ben wondered if this was simply a side effect of their secrecy, the fact they’d had to work so closely together, that they had sometimes secrets to share that others were not permitted to overhear. Or perhaps it was residual affection for Caleb’s hometown, represented by the boy who’d been just twelve when Caleb departed on a whaler, but was now the only tie to Setauket that Caleb had.

Ben tried to discover what would happen if he returned Caleb’s endless parade of gestures and closeness. He deliberately looked close over Caleb’s shoulder, touched his knee, even brushed loose dirt from Caleb’s beard and, once, straightened his waistcoat. Caleb seemed to take no notice, and Ben began to wonder if he had always done these things, but not really been aware of them before. It felt natural enough, to reach over and touch Caleb, who was ever at his elbow.

  
What Ben found he could not do was smile disingenuously. He tried, a couple of times, to grin at an offhand remark. When Caleb had seen his face, he’d knitted his brows together and asked, “Are you all right, Tallboy?” with seemingly genuine concern. Ben had dropped the false smile and grunted an affirmative. Caleb stared at him a moment longer, shrugged, and continued talking. But Ben found he smiled naturally often around Caleb, more than he did around any other man of his acquaintance. And he knew no other ways to assess whether Caleb might- just might- want to be closer to him than they already were. The only tools he had at his disposal were the ones Caleb taught him, that one evening by the fire. And so Ben determined to settle the matter, once and for all.

He did not expect it to happen the evening after he returned from his expedition to kill Reverend Worthington. But then, he hadn’t anticipated much of what had happened the last few days. Caleb’s advice was not to be trusted, after all, because Ben had somehow found himself in Sarah’s arms without suspecting anything. He’d woken up dazed, half-remembering, half-aching from the pain in his side, and before he’d known it, thrown out in the cold by a Tory. That was the way this war went.

He was back now, in his tent, report finished, stripping off his waistcoat gingerly. There was blood seeping through his shirt, and he knew his bandages must need to be changed. He undid the buttons on his breeches, struggling a little to bend and pull them off. He was just lifting up his shirt to inspect the wound more carefully when Caleb barged into his tent.

“I heard you’re ba- oh.” He came closer to lift Ben’s shirt over the bandages and examine the bloody mess, apparently not minding that Ben was only in his shirt and stockings. Caleb brushed his fingers tenderly over the edge of the wound and looked up at Ben with concern. And in that moment- of all the moments, after he’d just lain down with a woman for the first time in his life- Ben knew he needed to know the truth of Caleb’s feelings for him, if there were any, beyond comradeship or brotherly affection. He took Caleb’s wrist, pulled him back a step or two towards his cot, then sat, and pulled Caleb down to his lap. Caleb was surprised enough to follow, and of his own mind enough to do so gently, carefully avoiding touching the gunshot wound still bleeding in Ben’s side. The weight of him was solid, leather trousers pressed to Ben’s bare thighs. One hand snaked around Ben’s neck, and Caleb started playing with the blue ribbon that held Ben’s queue in place.

“What is this?” Caleb asked, as Ben felt the light wisps of hair and ribbon slide across the nape of his neck. “Are you trying to distract me from the fact you came home bleeding, and I should be taking you to the medical tent?”

“It’s been seen to,” Ben said. And he knew that was all he was ever going to tell Caleb about Sarah Livingston. He wrapped both his arms around Caleb’s waist, and held him in place, resting his forehead against Caleb’s shoulder. He hadn’t been slapped silly. Caleb hadn’t distanced himself. He’d done instead the one thing that he’d told Ben was a good sign- he’d come closer. Ben felt his hair fall free of its restraint, helped along by Caleb’s touch. He felt Caleb bury his fingers into his hair, scratching at his scalp. But it was still only a form of an answer, and tonight Ben was willing to risk everything for more.

He pulled his head back, looked at Caleb’s face. Caleb was already watching him, concern etched into the worry lines, the lines that Ben had never noticed because Caleb’s eyes crinkled when he laughed and around Ben, Caleb was always laughing. Without preamble, Ben leaned forward and pressed his lips to Caleb’s. Caleb stilled his hands, stilled in Ben’s lap, mouth still against Ben’s. He was tense as Ben pulled away, eyes blinking open, unsure what to do now. But the stillness left Caleb in an instant, and Ben felt the tug of hands in his hair, the fierce pressure of Caleb’s mouth, suddenly determined to possess him. Ben slid his hand up to cup Caleb’s cheek, slowing him just a little, pulling back just a little to kiss him more thoroughly, more comprehensively. Then Caleb accidentally pulled a little too hard on Ben’s hair and as he arched his back, pain shot up his side and he grunted, hand flying to his bandages. Caleb flew off him, stepping back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, glancing worriedly between Ben’s face and his hand pressed into his side. “You should be in the medical tent.”

Ben paused, unsure whether Caleb’s apology, whether his sudden distance, was due only to the hurt he had inflicted, or due in larger part to the kiss still lingering on Ben’s lips, the feel of Caleb’s short, bristly beard still prickling Ben’s skin.

The only things he could think to say were ridiculous. The only ways he knew how to ask were pathetic.

“I don’t want to go to the medical tent,” he said instead. He reached out his hand for Caleb’s, and wondered if Caleb would come back to him. He did, sitting beside Ben on the cot, rather than in his lap. Ben took Caleb’s chin and raised it, so Caleb was forced to look him in the eye. He did, not turning away, not breaking Ben’s stare. Ben leaned in, closing his eyes, and felt Caleb’s mouth respond to his slow pace.

There were a thousand reasons not to do it. It was eminently foolish. If they were caught, they would be hanged. If they believed his father’s preachings, they would be damned. It was illegal, immoral, inconceivable. He had not dared imagine this coming to pass. Ben kissed Caleb with a fervor he’d never felt for anything before. They had only kissed, and already this experience far outshone the one he’d had with Sarah, the one where he’d felt his body somehow betray him while his mind considered the repercussions of this action on all else.

Caleb broke away, glancing at Ben’s wound and saying again “You should go to the medical tent.”

Ben was, unfortunately, starting to agree with him. “It’ll be fine,” he said instead, and tried to kiss Caleb again.

“I’ll still be here when they’ve patched you up,” Caleb reassured.

“Will you?” and Ben hated the doubt that crept into his voice, hated that he had to ask, that now that they had begun this thing, he wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t end just as easily.

“Aye,” Caleb answered softly. “I don’t plan to let you slip away that easy, Tallmadge, now that you’ve come to your senses at long last.”

Ben wondered about that as he made his way to the medical tent, feeling worse and worse the farther away from Caleb he got.


End file.
